* * *
They were about an hour away from Florence when steam began swirling up from the bonnet of the car. Swearing softly, Vicè pulled off the road and switched off the engine.
‘What’s the matter?’
‘It’s overheated. Wait here. I’m going to flip the bonnet and check the radiator.’
Imma leaned back in her seat. Without the air-conditioning the car began to grow warmer immediately, and she was opening the window when he returned.
‘Sorry about this. It’ll be fine. We just need to wait about half an hour for it to cool down a little, and then I can add some water. It gets a bit moody when it’s hot.’ He gave her a wry smile. ‘Which you’d probably worked out already.’
‘Actually, I don’t know anything about cars,’ she admitted. ‘I can’t even drive.’
‘What?’ He was staring at her in disbelief. ‘Why not?’
She felt her cheeks grow warm. ‘There was no point. Papà wouldn’t have liked me going out on my own, and anyway I have a driver.’
Her heart began to thump. Why had she mentioned her father? The confusion between them back at the villa seemed to be forgotten, but reminding him why his mother was now alone had been stupid and insensitive.
But after the briefest hesitation his eyes met hers. ‘I’ll teach you to drive, if you want. Maybe not in this one—like I say, she’s a bit moody. But I’ve got other cars.’
‘You’d do that?’
‘Of course. A year’s plenty long enough.’
She kept on smiling, but the implicit reminder that this was a temporary arrangement stung a little more than she knew it should. Not liking the way that made her feel, she searched her mind for something neutral to say.
‘So why did you drive this car today if it’s so moody?’
His face stilled. ‘My mother likes to see me using it. It was my father’s car. His pride and joy. We used to work on it together when I was a teenager.’
She felt her stomach knot. He seemed distracted by the memory—wistful, even.
‘I bet he loved spending man-time with you and Ciro.’
He hesitated. ‘Ciro wasn’t there. He couldn’t see the point in wasting half a day getting covered in oil. It was just me and Papà.’
The ache in his voice made that knot tighten.
‘You must miss him so much.’
This time there was a definite pause before he answered. ‘Every day.’ His mouth tensed. ‘I’m sorry you didn’t get to meet him. You would have liked him and he would have liked you.’
‘I wish I’d met him,’ she said truthfully. ‘From everything I’ve heard he was a true gentleman and a good man.’
Alessandro Trapani’s reputation was, in fact, the antithesis of her father’s.
Vicè smiled, but the expression in his eyes was bleak. ‘He was a good man. He had no failings, no flaws.’ His mouth twisted. ‘Actually, that’s not true.’
He glanced away, and now the knot in her stomach was making her feel sick.
‘He had one major flaw. Me.’
She stared at him in silence, shocked and distressed by the pinched lines around his eyes as much as
the brutality of his statement.
‘I don’t think that’s true,’ she said slowly.